


Data Recovery

by SamehWrites



Category: Mr. Robot (TV), Papillon (2018), The Pacific (TV), Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, F/M, Feelings, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamehWrites/pseuds/SamehWrites
Summary: I dreamt of you again. I’d tell you all about it, but I think you already know. I think you saw me too. Our dreams are synchronized. Or was it the reality? I can’t tell. Good things are usually not real in my life. I’m used to it. After everything, it’s hard to believe for something that wonderful to be real. But I still want it to be. Tell me you’re real. Please.





	1. A Glitch

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Hello. This is a bit experimental, but I think it could develop into something interesting. Let me know what you think my dudes. Not sure how long I want this to be, we’ll see! Deuces

_Angel,_  
_Golden eyes,_  
_Wings behind you._  
_Sit with me,_  
_Would you?_

I hate dates. I hate any social interaction, actually. Especially the first ones. They’re always so awkward. You’re expected to do something, you’re expecting your partner to do something, you both are expecting, but not actually voicing your expectations, because it’s this game everyone plays on dates: never saying what you want, never knowing where everything goes, just acting around, subconsciously wishing this awkward part to be over. At least I do. Do you? It happens with every person I meet. I just wish I knew them before meeting them. It would make things less difficult.

Do you believe in fate? I don’t. I think that life is a structure of algorithms. Algorithms that can be rewritten and changed if you know how to do it. Fate, on the other hand, implies something to be stuck with you since your birth. Something that was written for you, and no matter what you do, you will end up following it. It implies that there is no way to cheat the system, to get around it. I don’t believe in that. I think if you know how to, you can cheat the system. You just need to know more than the average user does.

It’s so different with her. The moment I met her, I had this feeling like I already knew her. It’s weird. I don’t believe in all that previous lives bullshit, but there’s no way I can describe this. Maybe you can. But it’s not like you talk to me frequently, if ever.

When I first looked into her eyes, I heard something. A light jingle. Like from a wind chime. It sounded so familiar. It was her eyes. Sun flares illuminated them, and I felt a tingle inside me. They were so bright. How do they call it? Do you remember? I think it’s heterochromia. They looked like two little galaxy maps. She was giving me a weird vibe. Did you feel it too?

I thought hacking her would help. Cracking a person open, seeing what they really are. I saw everything: her medical records, confirming my theories on her impulsivity and mood swings, her social media, texts, and conversations. But she still was a mystery. As if her internet persona was completely fake, if not managed by someone else. It was kind of pissing me off: I’m not used to this kind of barriers. She was distracting. I wanted to expose her, to find her sin, and consequently forget about her. But it didn’t work. I had this strong obsessive urge to know her, to understand her. So strong that I started enjoying it.

“Let’s go on a date,” she told me once. I would normally decline. But my mania to get at least some closure on her pushed me to go out of my way.

“Okay.”

She smiled, satisfied with my answer.

We never marked a specific day for it. At some point, she just bursts into my apartment. Her eyes are full of excitement.

“C’mon,” she urges me and leaves, leaving my door open. How did she open it in the first place?

I exit the building and come up to her. We start walking. We walk until we’re on the pier. We don’t really talk. She stops and looks at me. Her eyes are scanning me. Does she want me to say something?

“We can—” she kisses me. It happens so quick: she just takes a step toward and presses her lips against mine. She just ends that game, not letting it to even begin. I want to kiss her. It’s nice. I’m not sure how to act in this situation, but she seems to guide me through it.

I don’t want to stop.

She breaks the kiss and looks at me again.

“Come,” she says. She takes my hand and leads me. I follow. Maybe even too willing.

We wander from one place to another, chaotically. There’s something about her. We walk into the clothing store. She leads me to a stand with glasses and puts some ridiculous vintage ones on and turns to me. As she looks at my face, she starts to laugh. And I laugh with her. It’s not even that funny. But her voice, the air, the situation.

I am happy. 

She takes other glasses, black little ones, and puts them on me. She laughs even harder and starts singing a tune from Pink Panther. They have no correlation, but it cracks me up again. I feel overwhelmed. I should control myself. But I don’t want to. I jerk forward and kiss her. I think I’m too aggressive. But she kisses me back, giving in to my force. And then I feel something. Desperation. Is this date – her way to show me something? Something I’ve been looking for until today? 

She breaks the kiss and regains her breath, and the desperation disappears, as she puts her act on again.

“Let’s go get ice cream,” she grabs my hand again and leads me out of the store.

We walk fast. She keeps looking back at me, smiling. She wants to see my smile back every time. She needs to.

It’s not that warm for ice cream. We get it from some truck. I get vanilla and she gets strawberry. She offers me to try it and smudges my face as I lean in. There’s her laugh again. It triggers me. Is she taunting me? Being with her all day, I start imitating her, acting on my impulses. I kiss her again, with all my force, and she lets me. She wants me to. I feel the despair again. She wants to give in completely, but something is stopping her.

We’re walking again, this time we enter the bookstore. We start messing with books, putting them in wrong places. She takes “The Communist Manifesto” and puts it into religion section. I take “Democracy in America” and put it into ‘fantasy.’ We laugh so loudly. The cashier looks really angry.

We exit the store and just start walking without a destination. I chase her. But she always lets me catch her. I can’t explain this feeling. It happens every time she looks at me. I must be overthinking. Am I overthinking? Can you stop me when you think I’m in too deep? I’m not sure if I’ll let you. I don’t want this to stop.

She looks in my eyes as we stop, inches from each other. There’s a sound somewhere near us. The wind chimes. It’s above some café door. Her face suddenly falls. She becomes so small. She inhales sharply and turns around to look at them. Something suddenly changed. I don’t think she meant to show this to me. She shakes her head and starts walking away. She’s headed to the park across the street. 

I follow her. She starts running.

“Sophia,” I say loudly. I pick up my pace. She is trying to get away. I have to stop her. I feel like it’s very important. I start running and grab her by the hand. “Sophia, stop!”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” she repeats it obsessively, not looking at me. She pulls her hand away, but I’m holding her tighter than she can handle. What is going on?

“Sophia, stop, just tell me what’s wrong,” I’m not sure how to react to this. I just don’t want her to leave. Did I mess up?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I can’t!” What is she talking about? Did I do something? Is she talking about—

“I’m sorry I hacked you.” Sorry. I acted before I could think.

“What?” She stops and looks at me. She is startled.

“I hacked you.” Oh well. Might as well just tell her. She looks at me confused. “Your social media, your contacts, your messages, your medical records. I do it to everyone. I’m sorry.”

“Elliot, it doesn’t matter,” she starts shaking her head again. What is her trigger? What makes her act like this? What is going on? “I just—God, what am I doing?”

“Sophia, what the hell is going on?” I’m getting impatient. I shouldn’t be pressuring her. But ignorance is hard to handle.

“Promise you’ll believe me,” she sounds so desperate.

“About what?”

“When I tell you, promise you’ll believe me. Elliot, please!”

“Okay.”

“I know you, Elliot. Not ‘know you.’ Know you. I’ve known you for a very long time. I keep having those memories and dreams about you, us, but you’re not Elliot, and I’m not me, but we are, you know? It’s not this city, sometimes it’s not even this country. And it’s not a dream. I think. I know. It’s reality. It’s real life. But not this life. Some other life. I remember you as a teenager. But you’re not Elliot, you’re someone else, but you’re still you! And I am also someone else, but we’re together. Like we were just now. I also remember you speaking French. And drawing. And it’s different. And I think it wasn’t even this century, but it was us! And we were together, again. Every time I see you, I just have this magnetic feeling, this urge to be closer to you. But those dreams are so short, and they also end so painfully. I wake up crying, I don’t know why. I just feel this terrible anxiety, like someone’s trying to warn me, I don’t know, but I just have this feeling like we shouldn’t be like this, like I’m making a mistake. Elliot? Please, say something.”

This is not real.

“What the fuck?” This is not real. “Are you on something? Is this why you’re acting batshit all day?” 

“Elliot, no, please, I’m not lying,” this is not real.

“You’re fucking nuts.”

“You promised to believe me!”

“Is this some kind of joke?” This is not real.

“No, Elliot, I’m not joking!”

She is on some shit. Right? She is fucking with me. What the fuck is she saying? Believe her? Is this some kind of prank? Is this her payback for my hack? How did she—this is not real. It’s coincidental. I’m stupid for falling for her act. She’s playing with me. Is this what she does? I should’ve guessed. I just thought it was nice to—no. It’s just another illusion. I have to be in control. This is not real. This is not real.

“Elliot, please tell me you’re feeling this too.”

“You’re mental.” I’m not gonna fall for this. “You should stay away from me.”

“No, Elliot, please. Don’t do this to me.” She reaches to me. No.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

I’m leaving. I don’t need this. I’m done. It was fun while it lasted. I don’t care what you think. I’ve had enough pain in my life. I’m not stupid to fall for more. Whatever she’s trying to pull—I’m not doing this. I don’t want this. This is not real. Her medical record said she was bipolar. Should have known better.

What, you disagree? Forget what I was saying. I was wrong. This doesn’t exist. People make this shit up to feel better. Our lives are pretty fucked up, romantic fantasies are just another coping mechanism. A bad one too. Love isn’t a mystery. It’s chemicals and instincts. People start having glitches and leave them untouched until they can’t be fixed. You shouldn’t be that vulnerable to your own emotions. And if you already are, don’t drag others down with you.

She probably just snorted shit in the morning. God, I’m stressed. Don’t judge me. You know I’ve had enough on my plate. I don’t want to deal with this too. I think I’ve earned to be selfish. I’m not going to look back. I don’t care. I don’t want to care. She is fucked up. I should’ve just deleted her. I’m gonna do it now when I come home. Add her to my digital cemetery.

Don’t talk me out of it. It’s easy to sit back and watch the shit go down. I’m the one dealing with it. I don’t want this. I’ve had enough. I don’t need this. This is bullshit.

This is not real.  
This is not real.  
_This is not real._


	2. Once Upon a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There. You got what you wanted. If this goes down in flames, I will not survive.

I feel weird. Where am I? It’s a dream, but it feels so realistic.

“Are you sure about this?” It’s me talking. It’s my voice. But I don’t feel my mouth open.

“Bien-aimé, if there are things I know, this is one of them,” I look in front of me. It’s Sophia. Her outfit is different, her hair is much shorter. She has a different accent. But it’s her. Her eyes. 

She comes up to me and touches my face. I realize I’m wearing glasses. He is. Which is it? 

“Come,” she tells me and leads me somewhere. We are in an apartment. 

There’s a mirror in front of me. Now I can look at myself. 

This is fucking weird. It’s me. It’s my face, my eyes. But I don’t control my body. It feels like I can only look from my—his viewpoint. I wonder if this is how you see things. 

“Look, they fit you so well!” She fixes my glasses. She sounds so excited. Her eyes are shining with anticipation. God, her eyes. She is gorgeous. 

How many of these thoughts are actually mine? I don’t fully control them. 

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, turning me to face her. Her fingers caress my cheeks. They are warm and gentle. I have this feeling inside me. It’s so strong. Like I’m looking at the most important thing in my life right now. 

_Like she is the most important thing in my life._

Something’s shifting again. The image I see becomes blurry. Like someone threw a rock into the water. Are you seeing all this? This all looks too real to be just a dream. I blink. The surroundings are different again. It’s cold. I’m outside. I’m following somebody. 

“Hey, why’d you slow down? C’mon, dude, we’re gonna be late! I don’t want to miss the trailers!” 

Sophia. It’s her again. Her voice. She looks much younger. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? Cause I want to tell her something. Something important. What is it? 

_That I love her._

This is all surreal. I’m watching from someone’s viewpoint again. But I’m not moving on my own, I don’t control my legs. I can hear his thoughts like they are mine. 

“Hey, Spielberg, everything’s okay?” 

“Y-yeah,” I answer, “yeah, I’m good. What, you want me to be closer, baby?” 

“Ew,” she laughed, crossing her hands. “Let’s go, it’s freezing.” 

“I can warm you up.” I’m desperately trying to be smug, to hide my nervousness. 

“Okay now, womanizer.” 

This is all bullshit. I’m just under the impression from yesterday. This is all just my imagination. I’m still in control. Your mind can play games with you. It’s all in my head. She just filled it with all this nonsense. Reincarnation isn’t real. I told you this before and I’m saying this now. These half-ass dreams won’t change my mind. 

I think I’m shifting again. Ouch. Shit. What the fuck? It hurts so badly. I’m lying on something hard. I hear lots of voices and moans. It smells like sweat and gunpowder. My vision is blurry. I see a white figure near me. 

“God, what’ve they done to ya,” Sophia. I’m not even surprised anymore. She has a southern accent now. I think she’s wearing a nurse robe. “Dontcha worry, we’re gonna fix you up.” 

I don’t feel like I know her. But her voice is soothing. Are we at war? This wasn’t one of the stories that she told me yesterday. Why am I even comparing them? It’s all just a dream. 

When I wake up it’s past noon. I haven’t slept like this in a long time. I know what you think: I should call her. You’re jumping to conclusions so quickly.  Haven’t we learned already that we can’t have good things? And if something is good, there’s probably a catch. There always is. I’ve lost so much. I figured that instead of shielding things that are dear to me it’s better not to have them at all. And Sophia is totally fucking with me. I don’t know what she thinks, but I am not falling for that.

There’s a knock on my door. I can guess who this is. Knowing her, she won’t leave. But I appreciate her asking for my permission to enter, although she most likely has a duplicate key to my apartment. It’s fine. I can handle her. I know I’m in full control of my mind right now, even Mr. Robot isn’t here. I’ll be fine. 

“What do you want?” I ask. 

“To talk. Please, open the door.” 

“I don’t want any more of your bullshit.” 

“Elliot, I beg you,” her voice is so sad, “I would never  _ever_  fuck with you, I swear. Please, let me in.” 

Fine. 

I twist the knob and open the door. 

_Good, she is beautiful._

Sophia’s eyes examine me, there’s so much in them. How does anyone avoid drowning in there? I can hear the electric discharges going off as she looks at me. 

“You can enter, but I don’t want you to stay here. Be quick, whatever it is you want to say.” I walk away from her partly because I know if look in her eyes long enough, I will lose myself. 

“Have you seen the dreams?” For fuck’s sake. 

“God, you really don’t want to drop this.” 

“You saw them, didn’t you?” 

“Of course, you brainwashed me yesterday with all of these fucking stories about previous lives!” 

“Alternative lives.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” I will not let her do this. “Sophia, I let you in. I thought—I thought that it was something good for once. I thought that—that after all I’ve been through, I got to have something good in my life. And you just proved to me that it’s all just a delusion I keep feeding myself. So, thanks.” 

I go to my nightstand and grab a joint. Opening the door was a big mistake. She follows but stops in the middle of the room. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. I light the joint and make a deep puff. I don’t want to deal with this. “Yesterday was a mistake.” 

“No, it was fate!” I don’t think I’ll be able to make her leave. She comes up to me and looks me directly in the eyes. This is bad for me. “Elliot, it’s meant to be. If you saw the dreams, you’ll see so much more now!” 

“What dreams are you even talking about?” I’m gonna try and lure her out of her own lies. She can’t keep this act forever. She’s gonna break her own story at some point, and I will be able to forget her. 

“The ones that you saw. Don’t pretend like you didn’t see them. I got you glasses that suited you. Then we were going to see a movie. Then I was treating your wounds. It all happened last night.” 

There’s got to be a way for her to do this to me. Hypnosis? Some kind of thought implantation? Anything. I can’t let my own vulnerability hurt me again, I can’t. She can be using me, she can be trying to exploit my trust. What if she was sent here to spy on me and I’m just giving myself away? 

“Elliot, I will swear on everything in this world, I am not lying. Why would I lie about anything like this? Why would I make all of this up and try to feed it to you?” 

“I don’t know Sophia! Lately, literally anything can be done to hurt, go fucking figure.” I feel her hand touching mine. I try to move away but can’t. Her warmth is calming and inviting. That’s exactly what I was scared of. I lost to her. 

“Just give me one chance to prove you it’s real. One. If I fail and you still don’t believe me – I will leave. It’s a promise.” 

Fuck me I don’t want her to leave. 

Sophia moves closer to me. I can feel her breath on my lips. She must’ve programmed me to resonate with her because I feel completely dependent on her, inferior. As if she substitutes something I didn’t think I had but now cannot live without. She moves even closer. Her lips caress mine. I’m trying my hardest to restrain myself, but I can’t. Are you happy now? I led myself to this. I haven’t been this hooked since morphine. Morphine compared to this feels like vitamin c. She kisses me and I get high instantly. It runs up my veins right into my brain and I melt. 

“Give me tonight. Just tonight. I will show you, Elliot, I swear.” She holds my cheek in her palm. There. You got what you wanted. If this goes down in flames, I will not survive.


	3. So, you're Sophia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that’s her. We’re a lot more similar than I thought.

Hi. Sorry I kept you in the dark for some time. I needed to clear my head. I figured too much reflexivity would be bad for me. Don’t worry, I’m still skeptical. But if you can’t stop a madman, just let them do what they want, that way it will be over faster.

I want to believe Sophia. I really do. But I can’t. I’m letting her do it her way. Not for her, but for me. I need to prove myself it’s not real. And it’s better to regret something you’ve done than something you wish you’ve done.

We had another date today. If that’s what you want to call it. It was less impulsive. Less emotional. We didn’t kiss. We talked. I think it’s the most normal I’ve seen her. She wasn’t bouncing around or doing anything unpredictable. She’s going to spend the night at my place, to prove a point. Not gonna lie, deep down inside I’m hoping she will convince me. But I really doubt it.

“So, what do you wanna know?” 

I told her if we were to do this, she had to tell me more about herself. 

“Everything.” 

“Didn’t you hack me? Nowadays, it’s all you need to know.”

“I don’t care for that. Besides, it’s obviously fake.”

“Damn. I thought I had a good cover-up.” 

“For common users – maybe.” 

We’re at the pier. It smells like ocean and rain. If I was superstitious, I’d say Sophia’s mood affects the weather. But that’s impossible, right? 

“So?” It’s so obvious she doesn’t want to talk about herself. She keeps avoiding all the questions since the second we met. Too bad cause I’m not backing off.

She looks at me. Her smile is sad. She realizes the conversation is inevitable. 

“Who are you?”

“I don’t really know what to tell you.” She looks away, at the ocean, hugging herself. She feels exposed. “I’m nobody. Like millions of others. I eat, I sleep, I pay bills. I rent a shitty apartment in the city center in hopes that the street noise will be louder than my own loneliness. I avoid silence because it makes me think. I work 9 to 5, my friends are people from my work circle who I have nothing in common with but who I still talk to and go out with because I have nothing better to do in my free time. I’ve had a shitty childhood and bad genes, both of which have granted me my current mental record. I’m bipolar, I have anxiety and depression, but this I guess you know already. I stuff myself with medication provided by our healthcare system, which only numbs me more. I don’t have hobbies, I’m not particularly good at anything. I cry myself to sleep. It’s pretty miserable.” 

“Everyone cries.” 

“No. not crying. My whole life. It’s pathetic. Was.” 

She finally looks back at me. Her eyes are watery. 

“Elliot, when I met you, I felt my life begin. It received purpose. I’ve never known what purpose even is, I’ve never had one. But now it feels like I do. It feels like my existence finally has meaning. It sounds cliché and stupid, I know. But it’s true. Those dreams I’m having, memories of alternative lives, it’s all I have. I know you’d rather do anything else but listen to me talk about it, but I swear on my fucking life it’s true.” 

I watch her eyes shift around my features, looking for a reaction. So that’s her. Little, vulnerable, endlessly sad. Desperate for intimacy, desperate to feel something apart from her everyday suburban suffering. She hates it. We’re a lot more similar than I thought. 

“You have to understand how I feel.” 

“I do. Your reaction is only fair. My plan was to wait a lot more before telling you. But the way I feel around you – it’s too much to handle on my own.” 

Well, at least we can agree on that. 

“I know what you mean.” 

She smiles, happy with my answer. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Please don’t run away, okay?” 

“Now that you’ve mentioned it.” I joke. I guess I’m finally feeling comfortable enough. She giggles and stands up. I watch her go to the restroom door. Yeah. I can lie to myself how much I want but we both know I can’t be indifferent to her no matter how hard I try. 

“Oh, come on.” 

He’s back. 

“Yeah, and it’s about damn time! Can’t leave you for even a second, you immediately start making questionable choices.” 

“I’ve been quite good until this exact second, actually.” 

“Oh yeah, you have. How’s dealing with a lunatic been treating you? Have you finally lost your last bits of sanity?” 

“With you here, I probably will.” 

“Don’t get this twisted, kid. I’m the only thing that helps you think clearly.” 

“Yeah. Talking to my imaginary dead father is really helping my mental health.” 

“And talking to her?” 

“When I’m with Sophia I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” 

“She is bipolar! They are fun to have around when they’re at their best, but next thing you know – she’s gonna try to cut herself, or you, what’s worse.” 

“She’s taking her meds.” 

“Are you defending her? Jesus, haven’t you learned a thing by now? How many people are you going to shield until they stab you from the back?” 

“I think you should go.” 

“We are one. You know what that means? It means I’m saying what you’re thinking. You’re full of doubts and you just don’t want to admit it because apparently, some crazy fairytale is worth it.” 

“Or maybe the only thing preventing me from being happy is me. You, to be specific.” 

“This is just an unjustified risk.” 

“What is? My happiness? You know, as much as we talk about taking care of me, my well-being never seems to be a top priority.” 

“It is. But this is not a way to achieve it.” 

“Hey, so you didn’t run after all! That says something.” It’s Sophia. 

Mr. Robot had enough spotlight for today. I don’t want to give him any more attention. I’ve been doing great before he got here, you saw it yourself. Wouldn’t you agree I’m better off without him? 

“Are you ready to go?” 

I am. 

“Elliot? What’s wrong?” 

I said I am. 

Huh? 

Can’t she hear me? What’s going on? Where is she looking? Why— 

Oh no. 

“So you’re Sophia.” 

You fucking asshole. Stop it. 

“Wh—Eliot, are you high? What happened when I was in the bathroom?” 

Don’t. 

“How long are you planning on fucking around with him?” 

Let me back in, you’re ruining it! 

“Enough of this. It’s been fun, but all things come to an end. I’m pretty sure now is a great time to stop this one.” 

Don’t, you’ll make her leave! 

“Who are you?” 

I can see Sophia’s brows frowning. Her gaze has changed. I haven’t seen this before. She’s suddenly so serious, cautious. She can tell. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Who are you?” Sophia repeats, adding more force to her voice. 

“Your dear Elliot calls me Mr. Robot. Too predictable, if you ask me, but I don’t complain. I’m afraid he is way too sentimental to take a sober view of this situation, so I had to step in. I’m here to tell you that we no longer share common interests.” 

“You and me – no. But whatever it is I share with Elliot, it’s only his business and mine. I don’t think it concerns you.” 

“Whatever concerns Elliot – concerns me too.” 

“Does he even want you here?” 

No, I don’t. 

“Yes, he does.” 

“Elliot, if you want me to leave – I will. But if you want me to stay, please tell me. 

No. 

No, I don’t want her to leave. 

I don’t fucking care if she’s right or not, I don’t want her to leave. 

I think I can reclaim control, at least a little. I have to.

“Elliot, don’t!” 

I manage to grab Sophia’s hand. She finally looks at me. God, finally. I hear Mr. Robot clicking his tongue behind me, but I don’t care about him anymore. If anything, he proved the one thing I couldn’t fully figure out. I can’t bear being away from her. 

“Sorry.” It’s all I manage to blurt out. It’s suddenly hard to speak. Everything’s blurry.

“Let’s go home.”


	4. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to be right,” I can’t speak any louder than a whisper. It’s because of weed. Or her. “I want this to be true.”

I don’t want to exaggerate, but today is the best I have ever felt. In a long time, at least. We bought groceries. Sophia made dinner. Is this reality? Everything else aside, I haven’t eaten homemade food in a long time. And this pasta is

“Is it good?” If this keeps happening, I’ll assume she can read my mind.

“It’s great,” maybe she really can. Who knows anymore? “Thanks.”

Mr. Robot is gone. I guess I managed to get rid of him. It’s better this way. I don’t want him here. Especially when…

About that.

“So, how exactly are you going to prove me it’s real?”

She puts her fork to the side. Her eyes linger on me for a moment.

“I—” she struggles with words. “I don’t exactly have a plan.”

Of course.

“Was it all just to prevent me from kicking you out?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

I mean... how do you call this? Sure. Great matters call for great measures. Or she is actually insane. She smiles, but the corners of her lips drop quickly when she sees my reaction.

“Listen,” she leans in and covers my hand. It twitches, but I don’t move it away. Her palm is warm. “This isn’t exactly a scientific matter. There is no technical way to prove what I’m saying. But, whatever this is, I can feel it. Every time we get closer, it intensifies. So, to check it, we need—”

“—to get close.”

“Yeah.”

“Like sex?”

Sophia tenses up and jerks her hand back. Did I take it too far?

“I—I was thinking more like sleeping in the same bed, but… yeah. Like sex.”

It got awkward. Did I make it awkward? I should probably clarify.

“If you don’t—”

“I do! I do.” Sophia lowers her gaze. She’s nervous. That makes two of us. I feel like I’m thirteen. “It’s just—you weren’t really in the mood for it then, so I—I didn’t think I should mention it. But—” she sighs and looks back at me. “I want it. And if you want it too – we can—you know—make it happen.”

Way to make it even more awkward. It’s good she removed her hand from mine. My heart is beating so fast I think every part of my body would give it away.

“Do you want to get high?”

She smiles in relief.

“Yes. Please.”

I know what you’re going to ask. Where’s my skepticism? It’s still here. Don’t worry. It’s just—it gets exhausting, okay? Easy for you to have an opinion, you’re an observer. I am the one to make decisions. I can’t trust Mr. Robot to do it, he’ll ruin everything. And at this point, dragging anyone else into this would be pointless. Stupid even. I really want this to work. I am more and more sure that Sophia isn’t lying to me or exploiting my trust. She’s just lonely. And I’m well aware of how it feels. Sitting with her, smoking, talking about nonsense, it’s nice. It’s nice to not be alone, not to be occupied with world-changing stuff or revolution planning for change. It’s nice to feel normal. It’s not permanent, nor is it long-lasting. I’m sure the Dark Army will come back. But until then… I am allowed to enjoy myself. Right?

“Wow, I haven’t done that stuff since college,” she says, coughing out the smoke.

“ Really?” I ask, taking the joint from her. “How did you survive?”

“Meds, mostly.”

“Well, it’s never too late to incorporate weed into your diet.”

“What would that be, herbal therapy?”

“Exactly.”

I make a deep puff and offer the joint to Sophia, but she smiles and shakes her head. She’s probably high already, considering the last time she smoked was like seven years ago, if not earlier. My head’s getting lighter. I take my time to examine her. She sits on the couch, her head thrown back, relaxed smile on her face. She’s so beautiful. I feel happy from her I’m doing that thing again, I know. Throwing myself onto the person the second they start acting nice towards me. But it’ so hard not to do around her. She’s magnetizing. The way she smiles, the way she sits, the way she breathes. I want to hold her.

She looks very tired, even on weed. Whatever it is on her mind, it must be exhausting. I get it. I wonder what she is thinking about. She turns her head and looks at me. I see the entire galaxy in her eyes. The way it shifts, the way it shines. It’s that sound again. The—

“Wind chimes,” she says quietly, staring into my eyes. I feel a lump in my throat. I silently nod in reply. I think if I say anything, I’ll start crying. Last time I allowed that sound to take over me, I felt out of this world. I don’t want to block it anymore. When I look into her eyes, I have this strong feeling, like I’m seeing several people at once. They all connect within her irises, merging together. My breath starts trembling the longer I maintain eye contact with her.

“I want you to be right,” I can’t speak any louder than a whisper. It’s because of weed. Or her. “I want this to be true.”

Her hand is so close to mine, I can feel its warmth. I long for it. It’s magnetizing. Sophia glances down. Our fingers touch. I can almost see the smallest bolts of lightning between our finger pads.

“So—” I stop myself, memories flashing through my mind. It’s about her. It’s all about her.

The sofa screaks. Her face is inches from mine. Have you ever anticipated a thing that hard? I can’t remember I have. My heart is pounding. In any other case, I would be a little worried.

Blossoming flowers.

Blue waves.

Icy road.

Machine guns.

Popcorn.

Woodpecker.

This dress looks so good on you.

You don’t deserve this life.

I don’t want to ruin what we have.

Who is it? Me? Or them? Are we the same? Your face is so familiar. How long have we known each other? Is it months? Years? Decades? Do you remember doing all this? Why is it when I look at you, I feel at home? Do you feel it? Are we still here? Can you still hear the cars? Or are they gone? Are we gone? Is the place changing? Or are we? Am I asleep? Recently, I dreamt of you again. I’d tell you all about it, but I think you already know. I think you saw me too. Our dreams are synchronized. Or was it the reality? I can’t tell. Good things are usually not real in my life. I’m used to it. After everything, it’s hard to believe for something that wonderful to be real. But I still want it to be.

Tell me you’re real.

Please.

Sophie.

“Sophie.”

“Elliot.”

The wat you say my name. The way your hand touches my mine. Your lips are warm against my skin, soft. Your breath is at my neck. I want you. I need you.

“Be with me.” I can’t tell what I’m thinking and what I’m saying out loud anymore.

“I am. I’m here. I’m here, Elliot.”

I want to feel your body, I want you to be closer, closer, closer.

“I’ve missed you, Elliot.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

I remember, I remember so much. It’s overwhelming. Why do I feel like I’ve waited years for this? Because I did? Touching you, kissing you, being inside you. Loving you. You. It’s always been you.

Sophie.


End file.
